Sweeter than the First Time [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

Hello, dreamers of Manhattan. The Rift knows that things have been kind of rough, lately. The last dream didn't go as well as it had hoped. Consider this an apology of sorts, and a hearkening back to the good times you've shared.

It's a grand old (and potentially familiar) cabin house that the dreamers will find themselves wandering. The furniture is plentiful and comfortable, the floors are strewn with cushions and blankets, and there are cheerful fires burning in the grates. It seems a little odd that the house still manages to be on the chilly side despite looking so warm, yet it is.

Oh, well. You'll just have to find another dreamer or two and spoon up and fall asleep like little baby cats get cozy. It shouldn't be difficult; most of the dreamers (excepting those with strong telepathic defenses or deeply ingrained cuddle-averse personalities) will find themselves feeling friendlier than usual, along with an almost overwhelming desire to snuggle up to someone. How convenient that the house seems designed for that very purpose!

And if some of the cushions are Hello Kitty themed, well, that's just coincidence.


[OOC: Standard dream party rules apply. Characters will be affected by the dream-whammy to whatever degree makes the most sense for them, and will remember or forget the events of the dream at the player's discretion. Backtag into infinity.]

Comments

[wildmage_daine]

And speaking of little baby cats…

Careful with that pile of wildlife-patterned blankets and cushions heaped in front of one of the fireplaces: it may contain traces of actual wildlife.

Daine is there, in snow leopard shape - it seems fitting for reasons she can't quite pin down, and the air is on the chilly side. She's twisted into some boneless configuration, half-hidden under a blanket, most of her furry belly exposed to soak up the warmth of the fire. The most noticeable part of her is her incredibly fluffy tail, which extends out across the floor and curls idly back and forth, demonstrating that she's actually awake despite all other outward appearances.

She might not be accosting anyone - seems rude, in this shape - but she definitely wouldn't mind company.

[johnny_truant]

He recognizes the snow leopard - I mean who else would it be - and grins loosely as he ambles over.

"Hey," he says, settlng down beside her. "I don't know about you, but I am enjoying this a lot more than the last one."

Feeling a curious lack of shyness, he goes ahead and sticks a hand right into her warm, fluffy fur and starts petting almost dutifully.

[postictal]

This isn't like any house Tim's been in before. No seedy hotel rooms, for one, and that's become something of a staple for him even in the newest city backdrop of his life. Nothing here is broken-down or burned either, which is an odd change of pace.

There's a fairly out-of-the-way armchair that Tim wastes no time in claiming with a faint, contented sigh. One hand creeps idly to the faintly rattling pack of cigarettes in one pocket, but he realizes he doesn't feel the itch. This is nice just like this. Whatever...this is. He doesn't think he's ever felt this weirdly relaxed. The sound of someone approaching causes him to automatically stiffen and grip the arms of his seat, but it's purely reflexive. Can't blame him for being wary. Just look at his life.

[wildmage_daine]

Don't be alarmed! It's just a dog - a very friendly dog whose tail is fanning the air in obvious canine goodwill. Daine figured it might be less alarming for her to explore the house in this shape, though the downside is that her fur is so short. She probably should have picked something fluffier.

Or she could just join this fellow on his nice armchair. He won't mind, right? Most folk like dogs. Daine trots up to the chair and hops nimbly up onto the cushion beside him with a little grunt. There we are. She flops into his lap with an overblown sigh. Hullo, she says, tail thumping against the arm of the chair. Don't worry, I'm nice.

[rae_of_sun]

Hey, this is pretty nice. Almost too nice, but for whatever reason, Sunshine is not inclined to look this gift house in the architectural equivalent of a mouth. (Medicine cabinet?)

The chill in the air is a little unfortunate, but the place is well equipped with ways to stave off the cold. She's acquired some tea from a little kitchen - she just sort of helped herself, comfortably convinced that no one would mind if she brewed up a pot - and now she's relocated pot, cups, and herself to a nice little library with an abundance of seating and side tables. She's curled up on a loveseat, a thick blanket over her lap and her tea steaming on the end table beside her, a book balanced on her knee. She's leafing through it idly, not so absorbed that she doesn't look interruptible. There is an extra teacup for any interested parties, after all.

[johnny_truant]

This is, possibly for the first time ever, a house he thinks he can deal with.

It's really nice. Aggressively nice, in fact, but in exchange for aggressively not that, he'll take this any day. And anyway he feels good. (That in itself is too familiar, the first dream he had here was also a house, also a sourceless feeling of comfort, the ease that allowed him to fall so neatly into Zagreus' very first trap, but it's so easy to just push that down - don't think about it, it's so much better not to think about it.)

He doesn't settle yet, choosing instead to wander, looking for someone he knows. He really wants company, maybe from someone other than the usual - not for the usual reasons, either. That, too, is a little strange, but he doesn't stop to analyze it. He steps from one inviting room into another, scanning for a familiar face.

[has_a_horn]

Heyyyyyy here's a familiar face! He's wandering out of the kitchen when he sees Johnny, and he's clearly delighted to see him. He grins and throws his arms around him, then pulls back to arms length to look at him. He's very aware of this dream's effects, but he doesn't really care at the moment. It seems like he hasn't cuddled up to Johnny nearly enough, lately.

"Hey, stranger."

[apidae]

Bee giggles aloud - she just can't help it, everything is so nice and cozy and lovely, and it's been so long since there was a really nice dream like this. She curls up happily into her big cushy armchair, which is certainly large enough to accomodate more than one person, pulling her bare feet under piles of soft blankets, and peeking around, hoping to see someone who'll join her. Someone should definitely come join her! She's all alone and that won't do at all. Besides, she's such a good cuddler, and it's so rare that she really gets the chance.

[fucking_ebay]

An almost overwhelming desire to cuddle? Try all-consuming. Peter's wandering around looking like a junkie in need of a fix, and when he spots someone he sort of knows he makes a beeline for her chair, stopping short of just climbing right in with her in a great show of willpower. He's shivering, possibly more than is warranted given the cold. Nothing's going to get him here, but the rock steady feeling of safety in this place just makes him ache for human contact in a way he likes to pretend he never does.

"Uhm," he says. No, he's going to be cool about this. He yelled at her last time they met, didn't he? Stupid of him. Stupid, too, to be wanting to crawl in with her. "You took all the blankets." A blatant lie.

[bibliophale]

Well, if he must dream - it might as well be a dream like this. He looks appraisingly at the homey, just shy of kitschy environment, hands on his hips like a man proud of his own work. Not that he had anything to do with this. But it's certainly welcome. One might even say he needed it.¹

He roams around curiously, seeking a library, and delighting when he finds one. Rich wooden bookshelves packed with lovely volumes - oh, he's definitely staying in here. Anyone who wants to enjoy his company is going to have to find him.

He gets himself a veritable stack, settles into an armchair just by the fire, miracles himself a cup of cocoa, and gets down to a good rowdy² reading session.

¹ 'One' would have to, because Aziraphale certainly isn't going to admit it.

² Unlikely. Is Hans Christian Andersen ever risque?

[omnomnom_feels]

Someone else is more than a little pleased to be here, too. Rashad has never been good at controlling his impulses while under the influence of any emotion, and even a milder flavor like happiness and friendship is enough to send him out into the world library in search of a way to express his feelings.

And there one is! Maybe it's time he made up with this angel; his pet demon still hasn't managed to destroy Manhattan, after all, and they seem to have been decent enough not to have told Lucifer about Rashad. He enters the room quietly, crosses the room quietly, and quietly climbs into the chair with Aziraphale, getting in good and close and resting his head on the angel's shoulder. Or trying to, at least.

[all_the_gifts]

This is bad. This should be bad. She's outside the safety of Aziraphale's flat, and there are people everywhere. There are so many ways this could go horribly wrong. She's not safe.

But she feels safe. Melanie gives her head a brisk little shake, as if she can jostle the feeling loose, but it doesn't go anywhere. She remains illogically convinced that everything is going to be fine, and that all the people in this house are nice, and that she could walk right up to any one of them and wrap her arms around them and it would be good, and the box would stay shut.

She should probably find Aziraphale.

Melanie pads through the house on silent feet, unbothered by the faint nip in the air. With all these people, surely she'll run into someone she knows before too long. Poking her head through the first doorway she comes across, she ventures a soft, "Hello?"

[boneshaker]

The small voice catches his attention and he turns, looking down in confusion to see a nervous looking little girl.

"Oh," he says. "Uh, hi." He gets down into a crouch, which seems the polite thing, since he's so tall. "Are you all alone here?"

[andhiswife]

Greta has found a kitchen. Not just any kitchen, but one equipped with an old-fashioned, wood-burning oven, free of any bewildering array of buttons or knobs or other 'settings' she's yet to work out. As cozy as this place seems, it just isn't complete without the smell of baking. Yes, that is the one thing this lovely house lacks.

Though this isn't her house or her kitchen, she feels perfectly at ease bustling around and gathering the ingredients for what is certain to be a delicious batch of cookies. Before too long, some enticing smells will start to waft out into the hallways, and anyone who follows them to their source will find a cheerful, be-floured Greta carefully sliding a tray out of the oven.

[after_the_sky]

Well, this works out nicely. Jack has been building a pillow fort on one of the larger couches out there, and he's gotten a little peckish with all that hard work. (Also no fort is complete without snacks, if you can afford them.) So he follows the warm smell of biscuits.

It's not long before a little familiar mop of hair is poking round the door frame. He's prepared to be sneaky, he's got this, just one biscuit-- but then he looks up at the person baking.

Well. Scratch the sneaky idea, apparently, because he's already skipping over to the oven before he bothers to think about it. Sweets come before shock at seeing dead people. "Hullo, miss. Those biscuits?"

[boneshaker]

This is - what is this?

It's like no place he's ever been, nothing he can remember. The word is cabin, he's fairly sure, a cozy secluded home in the woods somewhere, but why is he here? How did he get here? He can't remember coming in. That should be alarming, shouldn't it - but he's not alarmed. How can he be? Everything is so soft and inviting. This place feels safe. Like home, even being as different from home as it could possibly be.

He wanders, not entirely sure what to do with himself, from room to room. He sees a few people here and there, many of them sitting close, entangled, and it looks nice, but - he can't do that, not with people he doesn't know. He's not even sure he could do it with people he does know. In the end he finds himself settling on the floor near a fire, shoulders hunched, studying the crackling display. He can keep warm if he stays here, at least.

[powerdealer]

About bloody time the Rift gives him a non-horrific shared dream. Seth can't even remember the last one. The high school one, maybe? And that was a month ago. How many has he had since then that have ranged somewhere between 'awful' and 'deeply traumatising'? Too many to count, it feels like. The only pleasant ones he's had has been most definitely private. So you'll excuse him if he still feels a bit wary about this one.

...The cheer does creep in a little though, so depending on the company he might feel a little more amenable to relaxing. For now he's just aimlessly wandering, peeking carefully into rooms, exploring and looking for familiar or friendly faces.

[peacefulexplorer]

It's just as well Seth wanders by when he does, because Daniel looks up from his book at precisely the right moment and waves.

"Hey." He's grinning, vacillating between pointing almost excitedly at the armchair, then the bookcase, then the fireplace, Seth, and looking downright thrilled to be having a dream that's for once promised to be pleasant.

[etherthief]

Anyone looking for some extra friendly company will find Iman sprawled along the top of a couch like a cat on a branch. Aw yeah. This is the best. She's reasonably sure this is a dream, but that's cool. She could do with a nice one.

"Heyyyy," she says to the nearest person. She is definitely not drunk. She might seem a little drunk, but that's just cause she's so happy. "Hey. C'mere."

[andhiswife]

Greta is now on a mission to put a plate of cookies in every room - a worthy goal, she thinks - but thus far, she hasn't done more than exchange friendly (if somewhat shy) smiles with the people she's passed. When a woman calls to her from atop a couch, Greta pauses and does a little 'who, me?' check to either side before approaching.

"… Yes?" That seems too formal for the setting, so she adds a sheepish, "Hello."

[omnomnom_feels]

It registers in Rashad's mind that it is not correct for him to be feeling anything when he can't remember feeding, much less something so...mild. He is unfamiliar with this, with simply feeling good and happy and friendly rather than being in the throes of extreme joy or amorousness. Just as when he is in such a state of extreme emotion, however, he recognizes the strangeness but has no desire (or ability) to do anything other than go where the mood takes him.

Right now the mood is taking him from room to room in search of fellow living beings. He is happy, but he needs someone with which to share it. When he at last alights on someone who has already found a cozy place to bundle up he does not hesitate or ask permission but sits down with them immediately, more than eager to get straight to cuddling regardless of who (or what) he has found.

[bluesuit_handy]

Impossibly, laughably, his time is coming soon despite it never having been anywhere near long enough since Daine first told him he was pregnant. Andrew feels (and feels sure he looks) as though he's got a bowling ball in his gut, and when he finds himself somewhere warm surprisingly chilly yet cozy he doesn't feel like wandering long before finding a place to settle in and warm up. He's never liked the cold, and he's not about to start liking it when he's in this state.

Accordingly, he can be found curled up at one end of a sofa near one of the nigh useless fireplaces, swathed in not one but two heavy comforters. It would be nice if James were here, he thinks, pulling the blankets in tighter. He's about as wrapped up as he can get, feet tucked up under him underneath the duvets, and now that he's warm and safe he lets himself drift, relaxing and dozing within the dream in a way that's lately escaped him in the waking world.

[singthesong]

Oh, well! Isn't this lovely?

The Balladeer can be found buried beneath several blankets and pillows on an armchair near one of the fireplaces, curled up with his legs folded in like a bony, over-large pretzel. This is the most comfortable he's ever been, easily. There's still a slight chill, like maybe another person would be nice - there's plenty of room, this is a very big chair - but there isn't anyone else around right now. Maybe someone will happen by.

/sondheimster pile

[andhiswife]

And happen by someone does - with cookies! Greta does a slight double-take, surprised both to see someone she recognizes and to see the Balladeer without a sizable instrument slung around his shoulders. "Oh, hello!" she says cheerfully - really, this is the best mood she's been in since her arrival - before flopping sitting down beside him and offering the little plate of cookies. "Would you like one? I found a kitchen with a proper stove."

[eliotwaugh]

Eliot's been trying to stave off dreams the last couple nights, and he's a little disappointed that a hard evening's drinking didn't just knock him out. Still, the environs are much more... calming than the last time, and he gets the distinct sense that this is a capital D Dream and not just his own mind screwing with him. Okay, he can deal with this. Probably nothing here is going to kill him (though the decor is so rustic it's painful), he might as well relax.

The place seems built for relaxing, and before long Eliot's set himself up in a nest of blankets on a couch, resembling a large fabric burrito. If only he weren't alone, that would be perfect, but he feels so guilty about what happened to Johnny in his last dream. The burrito pouts.

[has_a_horn]

It's not long after his brief and uncomfortable conversation with Johnny that he spots Eliot on the couch. It's not likely that Eliot had anything to do with Johnny's strange mood, but for the moment the thought that anyone else but himself could be responsible is comforting.

He plops down right next to Eliot and leans against him, matching his pout. "Did something happen with you and Johnny? Y'know, Johnny, dark hair, bad attitude." bad attitude as of two minutes ago, anyway.

[peacefulexplorer]

Oh, so now this...this is much better, Daniel's decided. He's a little relieved, in fact, upon pacing the length of the cabin and finding nothing weird or strange or funny or remotely off-putting. It's the one-in-a-million thing, at least in his experience - a nice dream.

Some of the chairs by the fireplace are already occupied but one isn't and, even better, there's a bookcase right next to it. Daniel figures that's pretty much perfect for his tastes so he settles down right there, legs stretched out in front of him, reading the first book he could find with a sort of idle delight.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Want to maybe rethink that 'nice dream' thing?

Lucifer isn't exactly sure what this dream is supposed to be-- he is both cuddle-averse and telepathically resistant, so sort of like the metaphysical equivalent of a hedgehog-- but since Daniel is here and in plain view, he will refrain from attempting to a.) leave or b.) kill anyone until he has at least had the chance to speak with him. It's always entertaining.

He approaches Daniel's chair from behind and holds a cup of coffee out at his elbow, where it will be noticeable.

[lottawork]

This is terrifying.

The sole favorable aspect of this situation is that Rush can immediately confirm to himself the nature of the dream, which does very little to alleviate the horrible, tautened helix of anxiety stemming from the presence of the compact set of rooms, the sickeningly closely knit arrays of people gathered along every soft surface.

He's at least managed to locate a library, thank fuck, which is, while not completely empty, at least partially removed from the herd of individuals who are, apparently, extremely well-acquainted enough to simply recline in contented communal heaps. Rush's wrist is trembling faintly but his movements are no less characteristically fluid as he brusquely removes title after title from the shelf to deposit them in a businesslike stack beside a simple wooden chair, nothing so overly bedecked in cushions or disarming softness. If the intruding dream will not allow him to work in the waking world, he will at least work however much he can here.

The dream has been kind enough, after all, to provide him with his long-since-lost glasses, and he positions them neatly in a smooth upslide with both hands.

[theoldgirl]

A library might not be a bad place to pause her wandering, see if there's some literature a dreaming mind has added that she could collect for her own shelves. If only it didn't turn out to be occupied by this particular human, one as intelligent as he is entitled, unruly and disrespectful. Though strangely perceptive in some ways she's not used to encountering in humans. She hadn't been able to conclude if he is at all worth the trouble, during their previous interaction.

With these thoughts, the TARDIS does end up pausing by the door, watching him and eventually folding her hands behind her back to simply keep watching. Let's see how he likes being impudently studied.

[theoldgirl]

Well, this dream doesn't seem as unappealing or downright infuriating as some others the TARDIS could name. She even enters it voluntarily, attracted by the comfortable atmosphere. She could always do with some externally sourced contentment, a pleasant susurrus of positive emotions against the edges of her expansive mind.

She shows up projecting herself a dress that might be considered comfortable, if that sort of aspect weren't actually completely immaterial here. Doesn't hurt to blend in a little anyway, as usual. The soft cushions and blankets certainly seem interesting and she brushes a few of them as she passes, but she prefers to wander for now, only stopping occasionally to observe the flames in a fireplace. Unsurprisingly, they are less warming to her than the happiness of the dreamers around her.

[etherthief]

Oh, oh, back up. Who's this, standing over by the hearth? It's the dress that catches her attention first, followed by the extremely pretty woman in it. Iman smiles warmly and saunters drifts over, leaning up against the mantle.

"Hey there," she says pleasantly. "You here all alone?"

It's not a particularly good chat-up line, but Iman is feeling pretty drunk with all the cozy comfort of this dream's atmosphere so give her a break yea right.

[interndana]

Dana doesn't particularly like how chilly this cabin is, it reminds her too much of being stuck out in the dog park at night. Still, it seems like a nice dream, and soon enough she finds a quiet nook by a fireplace and bundles herself up in a large armchair. She's seen a few other people in the dream, and it would be nice to not be alone, but she's far too shy to just go up to a random stranger and ask to share a blanket.

She sighs, and tries to warm her hands from the fire.

[apidae]

There's someone familiar! They hardly had a chance to get to know each other before, but Bee couldn't forget her, so sweet and helpful. Bee grins broadly to see her, all cute and bundled in her little nook, and all but hops over.

"Dana!" she says, and bends down to give her a little kiss on the cheek. "It's been so long since I saw you! Can I sit down with you?" She's not trying to shiver visibly but she might be. She is massively underdressed.

[whofrownedthisface]

Well this is...unsettling. Both in its lack of threat (seriously, we go from a dank underwater city to a spooky nighttime forest to the non-horrifying kind of cabin in the woods?) and the degree to which...people. They sure do seem comfortable. Is this a prelude to everyone melting into people-sludge? That sounds more like reality than a dream, actually; he's at least 65% sure that's happened before. Maybe that's high. At least 45%. Whatever it is, it's alienating, regardless of any calamity or lack thereof, and it's not just because he's an alien.

Well, the Doctor isn't having any of this, and also, it's chilly. He makes his somewhat spooked way to a cozily crackling fireplace and all but climbs inside. The stone hearth is probably very warm, having collected a lot of heat, and he feels an uncharacteristically sluggish urge to just kind of luxuriously drape on it, which is probably not something he is built for in the slightest. He settles for sticking his perpetually cold hands nearly into the flames, like an actual person would. Nice!

[bluesuit_handy]

There's a pile of blankets on the couch nearby.

Wait, no, there's an Andrew on the couch nearby and he just happens to be cocooned at the moment. He hasn't been paying attention to his surroundings, really -- while he'd like to have company, he doesn't want it badly enough to get up and wander around in the subzero temperatures slight chill of the cabin. He becomes dimly aware that someone has entered the room and finally shifts from where he's been dozing on and off (a pretty good trick for someone who's already dreaming), sending the top duvet sliding to the floor. Immediately he can feel the difference, and he lets out a long-suffering sigh and pokes his head out of the cocoon to investigate the damage...and to check out the person who woke him up. Older man, unfamiliar. No, familiar? Unfamiliar. Familiar-unfamiliar. Andrew forgets about the duvet for now in favor of staring at the person who's taken over the fireplace.

"Do I know you?" he finally asks sleepily.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter's shivering with the chill, apparently not having worked out he can wrap a blanket around himself while he walks. Maybe it's something more than that, too -- ever since he became aware of himself here, he's been filled with a craving for human contact. Angelic contact would also be acceptable, and contact from other species would at least be taken into consideration. He feels perfectly safe wandering about this place, but he also feels unable to settle in and rest, desperately not wanting to be alone. When he finally locates a likely prospect he stands looming over them like a confused stork, reluctant to ask even though he knows what he wants from them.

"Is that seat taken?"

for the sake of comedy I'm gonna say he was too bundled for Peter to recognize him, hope that's cool

[johnny_truant]

After his disastrous run-in with Gabe, Johnny retreated to a smaller sofa in one of the less populated rooms and curled up in it, covering himself with blankets so it's only the top of his head poking out, staring at the fire. He doesn't notice anyone approaching him so the question takes him by surprise, but not nearly so much as when he tilts his head to look up at the asker.

For a moment he just stares, wide-eyed. He's 100% certain, no matter how comfortable this dream is making everyone feel, that Peter didn't recognize him, or this would not have happened. After a solid several seconds of staring, he starts laughing, a little embarrassed, pulling the blankets up over his face.

"Yes," he says, muffled, between giggles. "I mean, no. Yes, you can sit here." He pulls the blankets down again to look up at Peter. "If you really wanna."

He'll take what he can get right now. And he's morbidly curious to see if this is actually going to happen.

[after_the_sky]

What does a lowborn boy do when he comes upon a suspiciously cozy-looking, yet chilly room that, if someone told him housed Kings and Queens, he'd believe it?

Why, obviously, whatever resulted in a small twelve-year-old boy being buried in a couch. No, really. He's burrowed underneath a mega-ton pile of pillows. And before a hole "window" in the front is a pillow "table," whereupon lies a plate of biscuits and other baked sweets. He's definitely munching on those biscuits.

Yes, Jack has built himself a pillow fort. And you're all invited.

It's a big couch, okay.

If you come close enough, he'll even extend the invitation verbally.

[wildmage_daine]

Daine has discovered, through some experimentation, that the best way to explore the house quickly without alarming folk or getting too cold is to take a small, fluffy shape and scamper. That's why she's an ermine at the moment - her coat a winter white in reflection of the lower temperatures, if not the actual season.

The sight of the fort intrigues her. Someone's been busy! She flows up to the top of the makeshift table and perches near the biscuits, though her attention is fixed on the 'window.' Now, who might be in there?

I like your fort! she says, not bothering to reshape her mouth to talk normally. It never seems to matter in dreams; even two-leggers can understand her when she talks like the People.

[erratic_hematic]

A young man wanders into the party a little uncertain on his feet. He doesn't seem to know anyone here, and it's awfully cold. He might have asked for a fire to be started, but it seems that's already been taken care of.

There does seem to be a library, thank God. He wanders in and looks over the shelves while he waits for the fire to warm up the room.

[wildmage_daine]

There are so many new faces in this dream! Daine's enjoying herself immensely, and by the time she reaches the library, any caution (read: manners) she might have possessed has flown right out one of the poorly insulated windows. So she doesn't bother to warn the two-legger she currently has in her sights that she's approaching; instead, she scampers right up his leg, little claws finding easy purchase in the weave of his suit, and pulls herself right up onto his shoulder.

Hullo! she says cheerfully. I'm Daine!

[starlightcalliope]

At first, Calliope thinks she must have stumbled into another one of the TARDIS' splendid rooms. Everything seems bright and welcoming, there is an abundance of pillows and books, and the window she finds herself next to doesn't show a distinct landscape. But something rubs her the wrong way about this assumption, chiefly the fact that it is bloody cold. Immediately upon that realization, she becomes a little smaller and tenser, wrapping her arms around herself to not much avail. Really, it's never been this nippy in the TARDIS, and she doesn't remember exploring new rooms anyhow, she remembers... her bed.

Her bed? Could it be...? She'd all but given up hope of ever dreaming again, what with her grave lack of a dream self, but... by jove, that's what this must be!! Calliope's spirits lift instantly, despite the heavy chill in her bones. She has finally joined a dream bubble again, or made one of her own, though if she'd dreamed this up it would definitely be a lot warmer. In fact, the chill seems notably stubborn and resistant to her tentative attempt at reshaping things just a little. Quite similar to the scary forest's frightful ambiance, actually, so perhaps there are other dreamers close by, muddling up the fabric of this space with their memories and emotions. She will just have to make do with what she can find here.

Which, as it turns out, is a mercifully large amount of blankets piled up on a sofa. She grabs one, but almost drops it at the sight of her own sharp claws. Oh shoot, she'd nearly forgotten. As usual, she pictures her much preferred troll shape, expecting to look at soft grey hands in the blink of an eye. But, dreadfully, she only succeeds in changing into her Prospit gown. The chill in her gut solidifies into dread as she tries harder to be presentable and fails yet again. Just like in the forest, too. Why can't she have a nice dream, if she's getting to dream at all? It seems rotten and unfair, to be stuck looking horrendous in such a beautiful dream bubble, but she is too cold to stand here and agonize about it. So she drags down several blankets, burgundy and orange and midnight blue on top, covering herself in them like a multi-layered hood. It helps a little, and she pulls the 'hood' down all the way over her eyes, hiding her ghastly appearance as well as she can manage.

The let-down of this dream and the stiffening chill make her just about want to curl up in a heap until she wakes up, but she's too glad to be dreaming at all to let it go to waste. Especially since she can now hear the faint sounds of other people in other rooms, the murmur of conversation and laughter. She would really very much like to be a part of that. And she still wears her true appearance quite often, when she's too tired before bedtime to be a troll (that's how the Doctor knows it's bedtime; she's begun to suspect he would never make her go to sleep if she could just hang onto her horns). Granted, it's only the Doctor who sees her then, but that isn't so bad. And he would insist she'll be fine now too. Reluctantly, she shuffles closer to the door, even dares a peek into the next room. But it's still an awfully big step to take on her own, so for now she remains an oddly shaped blanket pile by the doorjamb.

[peacefulexplorer]

Satan's seeming inability to leave Daniel alone has driven him from his favored armchair by the fire and the bookcase the dream had thoughtfully provided, forcing him to start weaving throughout the cabin's various rooms in an effort to keep out of the Devil's sights. It's crossed his mind that it probably doesn't matter, and Lucifer can probably pop into the dream anywhere and anytime he pleases regardless, but the constant movement makes Daniel feel better, all right, so he keeps at it. A refusal to stay might keep the Devil away? Who knows.

This plan falls flat on its face the same time Daniel does, walking briskly into a new room only to trip over the heap of blankets piled just inside it. For an instant he wonders if someone left those there specifically to unbalance people entering before he realizes the little bundle is squirming, and there is in fact someone in it.

"Oh god." Daniel makes a mostly unsuccessful, flailing effort to disentangle himself from the knot of blankets and stop disturbing whoever might be within. "I'm sorry, I didn't, didn't see!"